


Let strength be granted

by uumuu



Series: Fëanorians in Beleriand [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Healers, Healing, mentions of underage rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: Maedhros's right shoulder hurts again, but Emmelin the healer is there to help him.





	Let strength be granted

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know much about shoulder injuries apart from what I read on the internet.

“When did it start hurting again?” 

Emmelin gestured for Maedhros to sit down on the padded stool in the middle of her workshop.

The gnawing pain in his right shoulder seemed to grow as he did so. He gritted his teeth, and pressed his left hand on the spot, which only made the pain worse. “Three days ago,” he admitted.

Emmelin frowned. “Why didn't you come to me sooner?” 

“It wasn't so bad at first, and I hoped it would go away if did some of the exercises you taught me.”

“Did you exert your shoulder much after it started hurting?”

“I did try to go on training the new soldiers, before it became too bad.”

“As if nothing was wrong, of course,” Emmelin chided. Her countenance was serene and reassuring normally, as best suited a healer, but she could look intimidating when she meant it. “Maedhros, my dear, this isn't just a matter of willpower. You will prove nothing but your stubbornness if you ignore your symptoms.” She waited for Maedhros to acknowledge her words, her glare never wavering for a moment. “Now, let's take off your shirt and undershirt.”

Maedhros huffed and started unbuttoning his outer shirt, but tried to keep as still as he could otherwise. 

Emmelin retrieved the salve she had been heating over a low fire in a corner of her workshop, poured it into a clean ceramic bowl, and set it down on the table next to Maedhros. “Your brothers the twins provided some new ingredients to add to my salves, as well as to my tablets,” she said.

The smell of the salve was pleasant, and together with the mention of his brothers it distracted Maedhros from the pain for a bit. Emmelin peeled his shirt away from him without much trouble. Getting out of his undershirt was a more arduous process. He was grateful that Elthedir had insisted on him wearing his loosest fitting one, at least. 

“Do you think the prosthetic might have caused this?” Maedhros asked with plain distress, looking down at his right arm that now ended in a metal claw. He did love the prosthetic Curufin had made for him, and hated to think that it might have had a bad effect on his frail shoulder. The idea was even more harrowing because whenever the pain in his shoulder flared up again, his memories followed suit.

“It might have put some stress on your muscles and tendons, but then again, it is so light that it's much more likely it has nothing to do with your pain. It's just something you have to live with.”

The first touch of Emmelin's salve-coated fingers to Maedhros's shoulder resulted in a start and a hiss from him. He immediately forced himself to still however and she went on pressing her hands all over his shoulder, trying to assess the exact nature and extent of the problem. Her greatest fear was that his rotator cuff might tear up again. She hoped it was just bursitis or tendinitis. She started raising and bending Maedhros's arm in every possible direction and asking him where it hurt the most. His replies came in yelps and sobs, but she had to keep probing.

“There doesn't seem to be any major tear,” she said at last, gently letting Maedhros's arm go. She gave a reassuring squeeze to his unhurt shoulder, then started massaging him and singing a song in a low mumbling voice that made the words not sound like North Sindarin at all. 

The song had a mesmerising cadence to it, and Maedhros didn't fail to react to it, taking deep breaths in time with the rise and fall of the melody while Emmelin kept applying more and more salve to his shoulder. The more she touched him, the less it hurt. He wasn't sure if the song had healing properties too, but by the time she was done with her massage and stopped singing, the pain had subsided to acute, but bearable, discomfort.

“That should be enough for now.” Emmelin came to stand next to him. “You are brave,” she told him, before placing a kiss on his head. 

There were very few people Maedhros allowed to address him like that. Emmelin had seen him at his weakest, and her sympathy didn't make him feel ashamed.

Emmelin belonged to one of the most prominent healer families among the North Sindar, though not by blood, and she alone had been willing to treat him, after his ordeal, because she disagreed with her healer peers that he would remain an invalid for the rest of his life, and because her determination had not yet been dulled by age. Her efforts had paid off: it was only thanks to her that Maedhros was able to move his right arm at all. Everybody agreed it was nothing short of a miracle, considering what his shoulder had been put through. Even now, after she had chosen to keep assisting him, he considered her more like a revered parent figure than as a mere member of his household, even though she was younger than he.

“Your brothers the twins managed to grow some of the seeds they brought from the West and we experimented with them together. I made a new type of tablets with them too,” she began while she washed her hands. “I tried those on a woman with a dislocated shoulder I treated while I was in Estolad, and they seemed to work wonders on her. Try them yourself, if they don't work with you you can go back to your usual ones. I will also leave a more specific pain-killing tea with Elthedir, for the night.”

“Okay.”

She grabbed a towel and turned to face him. “Promise me you won't do anything to test your limits again.” 

“I promise.”

Emmelin gave him a stern look. “I hope I don't have to make you _swear_.”

Maedhros gave a small chuckle at that. “That won't be necessary.”

Emmelin smiled back. “By the way, since you're here...”

“Yes?”

“I received a letter from your brother the crafty one. He asks for my help in furthering his anatomy studies.” She said that with some uncertainty.

“You don't like the idea?” Maedhros ventured.

“I am...concerned about his purpose.”

“You think he cannot make a true hand replacement for me?”

“Oh, I'm sure he could. But even if he does, it would be...traumatic to attach it to your elbow, to say the least. It would be a process of trial and error, and that would take its toll on any patient.”

Maedhros considered her words. He too had thought about what attaching an artificial hand onto his elbow would entail. “I know what you mean, but...I think there are plenty of amputees out there that would go to any length to have a fully functional limb replacement.”

“Yes, I can imagine that,” she conceded, setting the towel down.

“Do what you feel like doing. If you want to travel to Himlad, I will provide whatever means of transportation you need.”

Maedhros always made sure Emmelin the best and fastest means of transportation for whatever purpose her travels had – to help with particularly dire cases, to collect new herbs, to meet with her family who had remained in Hithlum.

“I won't travel. I was away long enough this season, and I have something important to do here now.”

“Then, if you are okay with helping Curufin, tell him to come here. He respects you just as much as I do, and will do as you say.”

She nodded. 

“What is this important task you have? Another patient?”

“In a way. You remember that girl your brother the singer managed to rescue from orcs a few months ago?”

Of course Maedhros remembered her. Maglor's patrol had gone a little out of their way and intercepted a band of orcs returning to Angband from the eastern side of the Blue Mountains. They managed to rescue the girl and a few other prisoners before the orcs killed them all. The girl was probably a Tatya, and terrifyingly young. She had been raped so brutally that Emmelin barely managed to save her.

“She says she wants to become my apprentice.”

Maedhros's face lit up. “Has she told you her name?” he asked hopefully.

“Not yet,” Emmelin replied. “But I figured her family must be dead, or lost, if she wants to stay here. I hope that once she feels accepted, feels like she has a place of her own here she will be confident enough to tell us more about herself. If you don't mind I would like to bring her with me next time I visit you, say, tonight before you retire.”

“Of course.”

Emmelin tipped her head towards the window, and walked over to it. Maedhros stood up and followed her. They peered outside. 

“There she is. I've been teaching her about medicinal plants and now she spends all of her days tending them or just sitting among them.”

The girl was kneeling on the grass, carefully pulling weeds out all around a patch of mountain arnica. 

“Tell her she can have a patch soil to grow her own plants too, if she wants,” Maedhros said.

Emmelin had an even better idea. “Why don't you tell her yourself? I've told her about you, so you won't be a complete stranger to her. If you feel well enough, that is.”

“I feel like I am reborn.”

“Good.”

Maedhros agreed to go talk to the girl. Emmelin applied two medicine-soaked compresses to his shoulder, bandaged it and helped him get dressed again. She was standing next to the window when Maedhros reached the courtyard. The girl's head shot up the moment she became aware his approach, but she only watched warily as he sat down still at a distance from her. 

Not too long after, Maedhros cast a triumphant glance at the window before leading the way to the adjoining courtyard, full of vibrant summer blooms.

**Author's Note:**

> Emmelin means 'Yellow hammer' (a type of bird, not an actual hammer)


End file.
